


say you're gonna break my fall

by aknightley



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aknightley/pseuds/aknightley
Summary: Keith tries to deal with being the leader, and also tries to deal with his feelings about Lance. It's a process.Keith looks up and sees Lance staring at him, head tilted at an angle. His eyes are just barely visible through the visor, but his mouth is twisted into a puzzled curve.“Sorry,” Keith says, flushing. “Lost in thought.”“You okay?” Lance asks, falling into step alongside him as they follow the others out of the ship.





	say you're gonna break my fall

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the first post season 3 fic from yours truly, and it's honest to god a mess. A mess of feelings and angst and self-doubt and not at all what I would have planned to write, especially considering how soft season 3 ended up being overall. But I kind of wanted to play around with the concept of co-leadership and what that could mean for these two. Hopefully my next fic will be cuter :) A billion thanks to Beth, who did a fantastic beta and helped me fix parts of this that were missing. 
> 
> Title from Dua Lipa's song, "Begging."

This probably isn’t the time to lose focus, but honestly, Keith has never let something like common sense stand in his way.

“Keith!” Allura shouts, startling him out of his thoughts. He pulls his eyes away from Lance, who’s sniping sentries from a vantage point high above them, the bright curve of his smile visible even from such a long distance. For a breathless moment, all Keith can see is the blood red of the rifle and Lance’s sure grip as he adjusts his view. His face feels hot. “To your right!” Allura cries out.

Keith instinctively raises his sword in time to stop a blade from coming down on his head, but the resulting clash has him staggering backwards, arm stinging from the impact. He feels a surge of annoyance and kicks his foot out, pushing the sentry further away to gain space enough to recover. He raises his sword again, ready to run it through, but there’s a sudden blast behind him and its head explodes into shards of debris.

He turns around again to see Lance’s smile flash his way once before he turns back to the fight without pause.

In his chest, his heart skips a startled beat. He makes himself face the battle again, pushing the thoughts of Lance out of his mind, trying to ignore the cheerful, pleased noises Lance makes as he hits his targets. He wishes he could shut off the comms altogether to spare himself, but Allura would probably slice him in half with her whip if he did.

Instead he takes all of his frustration and turns it outwards, leaving a slew of dismantled sentries in his wake. When he reaches the side of the room where Pidge is tapping away at the computer they’ve come to hack, she gives him a look out of the corner of her eyes.

“What?” he asks, keeping an eye on the others. Allura wraps her whip around three sentries at once and cleaves them into pieces, while Hunk blasts down the hallway at sentries who are trying to gain entry into the room. Lance is -- Lance is fine. Keith doesn’t look towards him.

“Nothing,” Pidge says innocently, still typing away. Keith stares hard at her, but she’s focused in on the computer again, her eyes zipping across the screen as text scrolls by too quickly for him to read. “Just one more minute and I’ll have everything I need,” she says.

“Good,” Keith says. “I think this is winding down.”

“Looks good from up here,” Lance says. Keith can practically feel the grin on his face, even if he refuses to look. “Man, we’re getting good at this.”

“Totally,” Hunk says. He’s finally stopped firing, and when Keith peers down the hallway, it’s a mess of littered robotic pieces and sparking wires. “This is like, the fourth raid we’ve done in two weeks. We’re killing it.”

“Indeed,” Allura says, sounding amused. She casts a glance Keith’s way, and he stares back at her. There’s nothing overt in her gaze, but her eyes soften a little and then flick auspiciously towards the ledge high above. Keith looks away, feeling the back of his neck heating.

“Aaaaand I’m out,” Pidge says, unhooking a wire from the console and giving Keith the thumbs up. “We’ve got intel on their supply routes and forces controlling planets in the neighboring systems. Should be enough to keep us busy for a little while.”

“Nice job, Pidge,” Keith says, patting her on the back. There’s a soft noise somewhere over the comms, but Keith can’t tell where it’s coming from. It sounded almost like someone exhaling quickly. When he looks up, Allura is walking towards Hunk, who’s staring up at Lance with a strange look on his face.

“You guys ready to move out?” Keith asks them, and everyone answers in the affirmative. Lance jets his way down to the ground floor, landing lightly on his feet and lowering his rifle. He ends up standing close to Keith as the others start to walk away, as if he’s lingering on purpose. Keith resists the urge to cross his arms and forces himself to face Lance properly.

“Thanks,” Keith says, looking down at his own sword rather than at Lance. “For earlier.”

“Oh,” Lance says, sounding surprised. “Uh, you’re welcome.”

Keith tightens his grip on the sword and nods his head, grateful that the helmet obscures most of his face.

“We’re ready to leave,” Allura says, looking over her shoulder at them. Hunk and Pidge are already heading into the hallway, discussing the probable supply routes they could hit in the near future using statistics lingo that Keith had eagerly jettisoned from his brain as soon as he’d left the Garrison.

“Coming,” Lance says, shooting her another smile.

His smiles have been coming with more and more frequency, Keith thinks, like he’s settled into the change. He’s always adapted easily to the changes they’ve gone through, from suddenly being part of some intergalactic war, to Keith being part-alien, to switching lions without warning. He rolls with the punches, smooths everything over with a smile and a nod.

The thing is, Keith still doesn’t know if he feels comfortable here. The Black Lion is at least getting easier to pilot – she’s way too slow, but he’s getting used to that. He still longs for Red, dreams about flying her through endless expanses of space, connecting to her wild and reckless energy and letting himself just _feel_ again instead of thinking about every single move. He misses her more than he’d ever thought he could miss anything.

He’d just -- he’d fought so hard for their bond, and to have to push it aside, even when he knows it’s for the greater good of the team, of the universe, scrapes at something inside of him, leaving him feeling wounded. He knows it’s the right thing to do, that Red doesn’t begrudge him flying Black, but he selfishly wishes he could be with her again.

But aside from that, he knows he’s still a bad leader, despite what the others have told him. He doesn’t always think things through, and he’s bad about wanting to accomplish their goals no matter the cost. At the very least he’s getting better at listening to the others, in part because he’s tired of pretending he knows what he’s doing. He feels confident when they’re in battle and they just need immediate direction – he’s always felt comfortable making quick decisions, directing others where they’d be best suited. But the bigger picture is hard for him to hold onto when all he wants is accomplish their mission _now_. Waiting for results has never been easy for him.

But Lance – Lance has taken to flying Red as if he’d been flying her from the start. He still can’t always control her when she’s at her top speed, but that had been difficult for Keith to do, and otherwise he flies her like she’s an extension of himself. He doesn’t struggle in the middle of battle; wherever Keith needs him, he’s there, slipping seamlessly into formation at Keith’s side. He doesn’t hesitate to let Keith know when something is going wrong, or when they need to adjust their priorities. He sees the bigger picture.

Shiro’s been back for weeks now, but the Black Lion still won’t respond to him. Their tentative group of temporary paladins has become something much more permanent than any of them planned on, but it still feels -- unbalanced, somehow, like they’re all just waiting for the dynamics to shift again. Lance hasn’t brought up that strange conversation about being superfluous again, but if he did, Keith thinks this time he’d say something different, something he’s realized over the last few weeks.

The team needs Lance more than they’ll ever need Keith, who only barely fills the role of leader. Lance could easily keep flying Red and be a much bigger asset to the team if Shiro did regain command of Black. _He’s_ the one who’s superfluous.

The thought makes his stomach twist painfully.

“Keith?”

Keith looks up and sees Lance staring at him, head tilted at an angle. His eyes are just barely visible through the visor, but his mouth is twisted into a puzzled curve.

“Sorry,” Keith says, flushing. “Lost in thought.”

“You okay?” Lance asks, falling into step alongside him as they follow the others out of the ship. Their footsteps echo through the hallways as they neatly sidestep the remains of the sentries and drones they’d fought. This base had been heavily guarded by robots, but there had been almost no actual personnel here, a sure sign they were thinning the Galra forces in this solar system. It should make Keith happy, but he’s still too distracted by his thoughts to focus on it.

There’s no judgement in Lance’s voice. It’s curiously devoid of any real inflection. Still, Keith shoots him a glance. His face is carefully blank as well, and he faces forward, ostensibly keeping an eye out. Keith can’t help but feel like he’s avoiding Keith’s gaze as purposefully as Keith had been avoiding his just moments ago.

“I’m fine,” Keith says, shrugging as nonchalantly as he can. Lance looks at him then, eyes assessing.

“It’s -- it’s okay if you’re not,” Lance says haltingly. “I won’t tell the others.”

There, again. Keith’s heart pulses so hard in his chest that he almost covers it with his hand, as if to keep Lance from noticing. Lance’s expression is almost soft when he dares to look up at him. As if he really, really cares.

“I’m okay,” Keith repeats, a bit more firmly this time. Lance doesn’t look convinced. “It won’t happen again. Me getting distracted.”

Lance frowns. “That’s not the problem, Keith. If you need something, you can ask for help. I want you to. Aren’t I like, your right-hand man now?”

“I don’t need anything,” Keith says shortly, ignoring the part of him that disagrees with that vehemently, the part of him that wants to reach out and grab the hand that’s swinging by his side. Lance frowns, still looking subdued, so he adds, “I promise I’m fine, Lance. Thanks for checking up on me.”

He’s not fine.

He lays in bed that night unable to sleep, mind caught up in all the ways he can make a mess of things. Before, it had just been because he was the impulsive one on the team, the one most likely to go off on his own and disrupt things; then, it was because he was the unexpected and unwanted leader of the group, failing to fill the gaping wound that Shiro’s absence had left them with; now, there’s the addition of these -- _feelings_.

He turns over in bed, punching his pillow into a different shape, trying to convince his body to go to sleep despite his churning thoughts. Whenever he closes his eyes, all he can see is Lance in the Red Lion, flying easily in formation beside him; he hears Lance’s voice in his ear over the comms, advising him on the best way to handle an infiltration; he feels the sensation of Lance’s back against his in the middle of a fight, the two of them squaring off against a squadron of sentries and _winning_.

He buries his face in the pillow and breathes out a long exhale, bleakly wishing he could suffocate.

  


.

  


“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” Shiro asks, blinking. He’s sitting with his head against the window in the observatory, temple pressed to glass and eyes shadowed by the dim lighting they’ve left on. For a moment, the darkness inside the room and outside in space seems to swallow him whole -- Keith pushes that thought away quickly, pulling his knees up to his chest and sighing. “Not that we can’t have it again,” Shiro adds, quirking his mouth in a half-smile at Keith. “But I thought you decided you were gonna ignore it.”

“That’s not working anymore,” Keith mumbles, staring out at the stars. The solar system they’re in is dense with them, or at least the impressions of their light. He feels like he could reach out and scoop up thousands of them at once, if he just tried.

“What’s up?” Shiro asks, sounding curious.

“It’s just -- he’s -- we’re getting along, now,” Keith says hesitantly.

“I’ve noticed,” Shiro says, sounding wry. “There’s fewer arguments during missions.” Shiro looks at him, his dark eyes the only luminous thing about him in the shadows. He shifts a little, clearly gearing up for a speech, and Keith swallows, struggling to find words. “Keith--”

“I trust him,” Keith blurts out, and then flushes hotly. Shiro blinks at him, and then blinks again. Keith is immeasurably glad he doesn’t laugh.

“That’s good, Keith,” Shiro says slowly. “I think he trusts you too.”

Keith snorts, tucking his forehead against his knees. “He doesn’t. I don’t expect him to.” His breath clouds his face, stifling and hot, and he has to turn his face so he’s facing the window again. “But everything is different, now.”

Shiro is quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching into something almost uncomfortable. It’s been a long time since Keith has felt awkward around Shiro -- they’ve been like family for years now, always able to talk about anything and everything or nothing, but since Shiro’s returned from his second capture, things have been -- off.

It’s probably Keith and his weird, twisting emotions. Or maybe Shiro has things on his mind other than Keith’s ridiculous internal drama. He closes his eyes against the view of the stars and breathes as slowly as he can manage.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Shiro says softly. His voice is almost a sigh, reluctant and resigned at once, as if this is a conversation he’d known he was going to have and had been dreading. He can get in line, Keith thinks bitterly.

“I don’t wanna mess things up, Shiro,” Keith murmurs, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Piloting Black, and leading the team, and now this -- it’s too much.”

“You’re doing really well, Keith,” Shiro replies, and he sounds warm and confident, but Keith doesn’t believe him. Shiro had been the one who’d wanted this in the first place, even though it was clearly a disaster. “I know there have been some...rough spots, but you’ve pulled through.”

“Because of Lance,” Keith mutters. “And the others.”

There’s a soft snorting noise, disrupting the quiet and pulling Keith from his miserable slump. “Keith, I don’t know what kind of impression of leadership I’ve given you, but leading a team is _about_ getting help from others. You can’t do everything on your own.” Shiro’s voice is a mixture of exasperated and affectionate, warm enough that Keith finally raises his head and looks at him. The smile on Shiro’s face is achingly familiar, one of the only real smiles Shiro has made since they’d found him again. Something in Keith settles a little at the sight.

“I’m worried I’m going to -- that things are going to change, again, when we’ve just now started getting used to everything,” he confesses.

“Things change all the time, Keith, whether we want them to or not.” Something in Shiro’s smile dims a little, but he reaches out and puts a hand on Keith’s knee, grounding him. “It’s how we respond to the change that defines us.”

Keith opens his mouth to respond, but Shiro speaks again. “I know you, Keith. You’re a good leader, and a great kid. You’re gonna be _fine_.”

The words linger with Keith as he walks back to his room that night alone, his footsteps echoing in the long hallways. He knows they should be comforting, and maybe they are a little, but all he can really think is that this is just one more way he can fail.

  


.

  


“Keith,” Lance says, hushed, “You should go ahead. I’ll watch your back.”

It’s just the two of them this time. The other three are on the opposite side of the ship, causing a distraction and also attempting to pull data from the prison ship they’ve boarded, but Keith and Lance have been tasked with setting the prisoners free and escorting them off the ship. Keith knows that Shiro and Coran are ostensibly watching over the two of them too, but for the moment it’s just them on the comms, and the illusion of being alone with Lance has his shoulders tight with tension.

“I’ll keep an eye on our flank,” Lance says, glancing at him. His mouth is set in a firm line, serious the way Lance usually is during missions, and it evokes opposing reactions from Keith -- his pulse settles, comforted by his steady expression, but his heart flutters against his ribcage like it’s trying to break free. “How much longer?”

“Two minutes,” Keith says, glancing at his wrist, where a projection of the ship, stolen from their last break in, shows their pathway to the prison cells.

Their journey through the ship is mostly silent, only checking with each other intermittently, mostly trying to keep an eye out for possible enemies. It’s quiet -- almost too quiet. Keith keeps his grip on his bayard tight and refuses to relax for a second.

“It’s around the corner,” he finally says, double checking the map. Lance nods in response, still watching their rear. “Do you have the door lock thingy Pidge gave you?”

“Eloquent as usual,” Lance says, teasing. He reaches into a pouch on his suit and pulls out a small, round device. Keith takes it from him and moves closer to the corner, peering around it. At the end of the hall, there are two sentries stationed outside of the door, along with cameras panning slowly back and forth. The cameras have hopefully been taken care of already, and the sentries should be no trouble at all.

“Can you take them both?” Keith asks, already knowing the answer.

“You got it, boss,” Lance says cheerfully; he sounds flippant, but when he moves past Keith, his eyes are as steady as ever, and his brow is furrowed with concentration. Keith hears him suck in a slow, deep breath, and then let it out -- and then he spins around the corner and fires twice in quick succession. There are two crashes, and a pleased grin spreads over Lance’s face.

Keith’s heart skips a beat at that smile, before he pushes the feeling aside and follows Lance up to the door. Pidge’s gadget makes short work of the digital lock on the door, forcing it open and allowing the door to slide apart.

The cells are lined along a long hallway, and when Keith glances into them, most hold one or two aliens, all of them cowering against the far walls as the two of them make their way past them.

“Pidge said there should be some terminal we can plug into and unlock them all at once,” Keith says, looking around. He finally spots it halfway through the hallway, mounted on a column between two of the cells -- or, he thinks that’s what it is. He puts the little sphere thing next to it and watches it scan the device, beeping twice and then flashing green.

All of the doors on the cells slide open in one motion, and the soft murmuring that had been building at the sight of them cuts off abruptly.

“Hey guys...we’re here to escort you all to the Castle of Lions,” Lance says, peering into the closest cell at a short, round alien with five eyes and strange whiskers. “We’re paladins of Voltron.”

“Voltron?” one of the prisoners whispers, and then there’s a cacophony of the same word, whispered over and over and over -- Voltron, Voltron, _Voltron_. It makes the hairs on the back of Keith’s neck stand up. Lance waves a hand awkwardly at them, gesturing for them to follow.

“We need to move,” Keith murmurs, but all of the prisoners seem slow to action, as if they’re reluctant to trust them -- he can’t exactly blame them, after everything they’ve been through, but they really can’t linger. The others could only keep the ship’s security preoccupied for so long, and someone on the other side would definitely notice the lack of two paladins after a while.

Lance bends over, holding a hand out to the small alien with the whiskers. “We’re here to help,” he says softly. “Will you come with us?” His voice is unspeakably gentle, warm, as if he was speaking to a lost and lonely child.

Keith watches him and feels as if his heart is in his throat.

The alien only hesitates for a second longer before they step forward and put one of their hands in Lance’s. As if that were a signal, the other prisoners suddenly move forward, flooding the long hallway and crowding around them. Keith momentarily feels overwhelmed at the press of unfamiliar bodies, but he takes a deep breath and makes a whistling noise, drawing everyone’s attention. Lance straightens a little out of the circle of aliens surrounding him, eyes wide.

“Listen up, guys,” he says, trying to sound confident. “The best way to do this is for everyone to line up. Lance will follow behind you and I’ll lead. Just stick close to us and to each other, and we’ll get you out of here.”

All of them stare at him with varied colored and numbers of eyes, and for a moment Keith is sure he’s made some kind of mistake -- but then, as one, they line up in two neat rows, condensing themselves into a manageable group of twenty. Keith lets out a breath he hadn’t really been aware he was holding, shoulders loosening. Somehow, he doesn’t noticeably startle when Lance puts a hand against his back.

“Good call,” Lance says, smiling at him. Keith allows himself to smile back, but forcefully pushes the fluttering in his stomach out of his mind. Lance turns to address the prisoners, who are looking expectantly at them. “Everyone keep an eye out, and if we run into anyone, just let Keith and me handle it, okay?”

Leading the prisoners through the ship is nervewracking. It’s one thing to have Lance at his back -- he knows Lance can handle himself, and that Lance will look out for him. The prisoners are slow-moving, partly because of their numbers and partly because of their mistreatment at the hands of the Galra. Once, one of them stumbles and falls, but before anyone can really react, Lance is there, helping them stand again. Keith gives him a questioning look and Lance shoots him a thumbs up.

Keith likes that they don’t have to use words to understand each other. He pushes that thought away too.

About five minutes away from the Black Lion, which they’d both ridden in over to the ship, there’s a noise down the hallway to Keith’s right. He holds up his hand and the prisoners stutter to a halt, although one of them, with blue skin and three large, voluminous eyes, does bump into his back.

“Keith,” Lance murmurs over the comms, a warning in his tone.

“I’m gonna go head them off,” Keith says, ignoring Lance’s frustrated noise. “That’s the best course of action,” Keith says firmly. “If we let them get any closer the prisoners will be in danger. You stay and protect them.”

Lance’s silence as Keith readies his bayard speaks to the truth in Keith’s words, but he doesn’t sound happy when he finally says, “Roger that.”

Keith heads away from the group, hurriedly making his way down the corridor towards the metallic sound of footsteps. He doesn’t give himself time to think about it -- doesn’t even give himself time to look. He can’t let the prisoners, let Lance be put into danger.

It’s three sentries, all armed with guns, but luckily his sudden attack catches them off guard. By the time the other two are able to raise their weapons, he’s already run one of them through, severing the waist from the torso. He turns his sword in his hand and swings it to the right, slicing into the side of one of the others, but has to pull back abruptly as the one on the left aims its gun at him.

He ducks under the laser fire, only halfway aware of Lance sucking in a breath over the comms. He doesn’t have time to reassure him, or tell him what’s going on. He tucks his sword close to his side and reengages the sentry on the right, finishing it off. He raises his shield just in time to deflect a blast from the last sentry, although it does send him reeling a step back from sheer proximity.

The sentry fires relentlessly at his shield as Keith grits his teeth and bears it, waiting for the opportunity to attack again. It comes when the sentry moves to come closer, pausing the burst of firing for just long enough that Keith lowers his shield and drops to the ground, sweeping his feet underneath the robot and sending it sprawling to the floor.

He severs its head and kicks the gun away from it, leaving their bodies crumpled on the floor.

His head is ringing slightly with the sounds of laser fire, but he gradually becomes aware of a voice after a moment. “--ith? Keith? _Keith, are you okay_?”

Lance sounds almost frantic, and Keith guiltily realizes all he’s heard for the last two minutes or so has been the sound of guns firing and crashing noises.

“I’m fine, Lance,” he says quickly, and Lance stops talking and lets out a breathless noise that might be a sigh. Keith starts to head back towards him and the prisoners, trying to decipher exactly what that noise means.

“Good,” Lance says finally, which doesn’t really help him. He swallows his confusion and keeps walking. He makes his way around the last curve, spotting Lance hovering in front of the prisoners, who have huddled in a small crowd against the wall. Lance’s eyes flick conspicuously up and down his body and then return to his face. He hefts his gun in his hands. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, feeling strangely electric from the force of Lance’s gaze. “Same formation.”

They make it to the Black Lion with few other dramatics, although Keith does have to take down a drone that comes around the corner out of nowhere -- he swats it out of the air more on instinct than really meaning to, and startles a laugh out of Lance.

The prisoners end up situated in the back of Black’s head, sitting closely packed together while Keith and Lance head to the cockpit. Keith checks in briefly with Allura, who confirms that they’ve handled their end of the mission and are leaving in the Blue Lion shortly, and Coran pops in to tell them to all head back to the castle. The mission is a success, which shouldn’t still feel so monumental but _does_. Any time none of them fuck up in a major way, Keith kind of wants to close his eyes and sink into the pilot’s chair and just breathe for a while.

He pilots the Black Lion away from the ship, which is smouldering faintly on the side where the others had been fighting but still seems mostly intact otherwise. Pidge has assured him that she’d fried their engines, but part of him wants to rip the ship to shreds, just to be sure it won’t be resurrected -- but it’s too risky, too liable to draw more attention than they wanted, and with hostages their main goal is and always was getting them to safety.

He’s flying in silence, trying not to think too much about Lance leaning up against the pilot’s seat behind him, when Lance clears his throat. Keith tilts his head a little but doesn’t look away from the screen showing him outside.

“Good job,” Lance says, and it’s only a little awkward. Keith can’t help himself -- he turns his head and looks at Lance, taking in his quirked mouth and warm blue eyes. “Handling the prisoners, I mean.”

“It wasn’t -- you’re the one that got them to follow us,” Keith says, looking straight ahead again, hoping his face isn’t flushed.

“You kept everyone calm, though,” Lance says. “And you kept them from having to witness a fight. It was a good call.”

Keith’s face is definitely burning now. “Thanks.”

Lance reaches down and squeezes his shoulder, letting his hand linger. “No problem.” He sounds sort of strange, almost strangled, but Keith can’t make himself turn and look. He keeps Black on track for the castle, swallowing all of the terrified, hopeful words that want to come out.

  


.

  


Their armor isn’t usually so uncomfortable, but they aren’t often forced into diplomatic meetings in it. Where it’s usually flexible and easy to wear, now every part of him feels stiff and heavy, like he’s wearing weights. The memory of the last time they were paraded in front of a group of strange alien leaders flashes into his mind, and Keith grimaces, trying not to squirm noticeably.

“Is something the matter, Black Paladin?”

It takes Keith a moment to realize the alien leader with long eyestalks is talking to him. He only looks up when Lance touches him gently on his elbow, drawing his attention.

“What?” Keith asks, blinking, and Allura gives him a pointed look from the head of the table. Her frown makes his stomach flip anxiously. “Oh, um. I’m fine.”

Lance clears his throat, smiling brightly at the row of suspicious faces. “Elder Knoxas, Keith and I were curious about your food production. You said you were especially proud of that, right?”

Eyestalk alien’s expression clears a little, and his eyes blink in a way that Keith has come to understand means he’s pleased.

“Yes, well,” he says, folding his hands together, “We offer the most bountiful and beautiful loremsum fields for the Alliance’s use, of course. The Galra Empire has never…”

Keith tunes him out, glancing sideways at Lance. Lance is already looking at him, a vaguely amused smile curving his lips.

“What are you thinking about?” Lance whispers, his mouth barely moving. Keith swallows and tilts his body so he’s leaned closer, keeping an eye on both Allura and the alien leaders.

“Just -- I hate this part of things,” Keith admits. He wishes they could be on a mission, or training, or even just relaxing all together in one of the shared areas. It’s become common for them to decompress after a mission together, all of them wrapped up in their own projects or quietly talking to each other about how things had happened. Keith usually finds himself reading one of the books they’ve picked up from other planets, but sometimes he and Lance will crowd together on a couch and tease each other about what they’d done that day, how many sentries they’d taken down, how fast they’d flown, what special maneuvers they’d managed.

This part of things feels -- pointless, for Keith at least. He’s not good at this part, has never pretended to be. The others can handle things without him, and he wishes he weren’t here to feel like a specimen under a microscope. Even with Shiro seated next to Allura, even though Voltron is back together, he still feels as if they’re being judged for not being the mythic legend everyone has grown up hearing about.

“You’re doing fine,” Lance says. His hand comes to rest on Keith’s thigh, just a quick pat before it retreats, but it leaves the breath caught in Keith’s throat. “I’ve got you covered,” Lance adds, flashing a grin his way.

“Red Paladin,” one of the aliens says, interrupting them, “Do you agree about the mangoliem mining?”

“I believe Princess Allura is correct when she says it’s dangerous to explore too deeply,” Lance says immediately, as if he hadn’t been in the middle of a conversation with Keith at all. Keith gives him an awestruck look, and as soon as the alien nods her head and returns to the conversation with the others, Lance glances back at him and winks.

Keith hopes he can blame his flush on how stuffy the armor is.

  


.

  


“Hey, are you okay?” Pidge asks, and Keith pulls his head out of the Altean equivalent of a fridge to blink at her where she’s sitting with her laptop across the room. Next to her, Hunk looks up from his bowl of food with his mouth full, swallowing hard and shooting Pidge a sharp look.

“Pidge,” Hunk says cautiously, but Pidge waves a hand dismissively at him and looks at Keith.

“You’ve seemed kind of tense lately,” Pidge says bluntly. Her glasses flash from across the room as she tilts her head thoughtfully. “Well, it’s only in certain moments. Around certain people. People who fly the Red Lion.”

“Oh my _god_ , Pidge,” Hunk says, covering his eyes with one hand. Keith stands completely still, staring at her, feeling as if he’s lost all feelings in his limbs.

“What,” he croaks, but it’s barely a question. It’s barely a word, or a sound. He feels like he’s been punched in the chest, like there’s no air left in the room. Shiro was supposed to be the only person who knew -- he’d been so sure he’d been keeping things handled -- he’d been so sure that things were going to be okay, that things were starting to be okay -- but he’d fucked up, he’d _fucked up_ \--

“Keith,” Hunk says loudly, as if he’s been saying his name for a while. “Keith, dude, calm down, it’s okay.”

Keith shakes his head, manages a shaky step away from them, but stops at the look on their faces. It isn’t pity, not exactly -- it’s concern, which isn’t exactly better, but stings a little less. Pidge frowns, her brow furrowed.

“That’s not why I -- Keith, we’re just worried about you. We’re not gonna say anything about -- that. Just.” She pauses, looking incredibly awkward and hesitant, but steels her shoulders and continues with, “If you need to talk about stuff, or you want us to help out, we’re here.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says, patting Pidge’s shoulder while she drops her gaze to her lap, looking faintly embarrassed. “We just want you to know that we’re your teammates _and_ your friends, and you can trust us.” He smiles softly at Keith, who stares back.

“I--” he says, then closes his mouth. His heart rate still feels like it’s too fast, like he needs to run or fight or _something_ , but he crosses his arms around himself and holds tight for a moment, trying to think. “Thanks,” he says, hoping that’s the right answer.

“Right,” Pidge says, and Keith feels slightly better seeing that she’s flushed pink, clearly as uncomfortable as he is. She pushes her glasses up her nose and meets his eyes. “Do you need us to run interference or something?”

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, confused.

“Well,” Hunk says carefully, “You kinda -- get a little distracted, sometimes, when Lance is doing stuff. Combat stuff? Or helping you out stuff. Like with tactics. And -- stuff,” he says, making a face. “Sorry, the word stuff has lost all meaning now.”

“So we were thinking we could help keep you focused, if you wanted. I’m ready and willing to pinch you,” Pidge says, grinning.

Keith laughs, but there’s not much humor in it. “It’d be better if you could just get rid of the source of the problem,” he says dryly.

“Whoa dude, we’re not killing Lance for you,” Hunk says, alarmed. Keith gapes at him.

“I was talking about my _feelings_ ,” Keith hisses through his teeth, crossing his arms. Pidge bursts into laughter, and Hunk looks sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. After a moment Keith cracks a smile, arms loosening a little. “I’m fine, you guys. Thanks for -- offering to help.”

“We’re here for you,” Hunk says, saluting him with his spoon. “Sorry if Pidge made things weird.”

“Hey,” Pidge says, shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t want Keith to stress out about stuff. We’re really hitting our stride with this new Voltron thing, and--” Here she lowers her gaze, looking a bit pink, “I mean, I care about you and stuff.”

“Aww, and stuff,” Hunk coos. She swats a hand at him, accidentally smacking his own hand and forcing the spoon into his cheek. “Ow.”  

Keith huffs a laugh, feeling weirdly grateful as they descend into good-natured bickering. Two more people know, and the universe hasn’t imploded. It’s strangely grounding to know that at least this much is allowed, that things won’t change between him and two of his friends just because he can’t stop liking Lance.

He carefully locks away the part of him that starts to hope that maybe he’s not in danger of ruining everything. He’s still better safe than sorry.

  


.

  


Things had honestly been going too well -- the missions they’d been carrying out, Shiro’s good mood slowly returning, even things with Lance, since Pidge and Hunk were actually doing their best to help Keith if he got distracted or was being too obvious, either by drawing attention to themselves or, unfortunately, following through on Pidge’s suggestion and pinching him. They had multiple victories under their belts, dozens of rescued refugees safe on planets they were allied with, and Keith’s nightmares of failing miserably had almost stopped.

So it almost isn’t a surprise to wake up and find himself in a Galra prison cell, shackled to the wall.

As soon as he realizes where he is, he closes his eyes and thumps his head against the wall he’s leaned up against, something hollow filling his rib cage. The cell is dimly lit, everything tinged violet and red from the lighting outside, making it unmistakable who’s taken him. His chest aches faintly as he struggles to breathe in, so he guesses that he’s been handled pretty roughly by whoever captured him.

Remembering what had happened is difficult, coming to him in bits and pieces -- they’d been attacked first this time, taken by surprise while meeting with a potential new ally. He knows he’d been fighting near Allura, trying to watch her back, while the others were spread out over the village square to ward off the attacking Galra and keep the alien citizens safe. He knows he’d been nervous because there had been more actual Galra here than they’d seen in the last few weeks, and very few sentries or drones. He remembers facing one soldier with a long scar carved across his cheek, like the wicked, curved edge of a smile. The soldier’s blade had been a blood red metal, and it had shone brightly in the midday sun overhead.

And then nothing. Darkness.

His arms are thankfully allowed enough slack for him to get his hands under himself, so he can sit up properly. His body twinges as he moves, and he realizes with a sinking feeling as he takes stock of himself that he’s probably at least bruised his ribs, and his ankle protests even slight movement; he has to bite his tongue when even shifting his legs makes it flare with pain. He lifts a shaking hand, realizing that he’s been stripped of his armor, left in his bodysuit. His hands are pale, but his knuckles are bloody and bruised -- he hopes he hurt them punching whoever took him, hopes fiercely that he didn’t get taken by surprise. Hopes the others didn’t either.

His breath catches. The others.

His cell is empty of any presence, and the door is solid steel, but there is a small grate at the top with room to peer out. It’s too far away for him to reach, though, since his shackles only give him about three feet of reach. His feet aren’t held, which is good news, but he’s not sure how far or fast he’ll be able to move on his ankle. He debates calling out to see if anyone on the team is nearby, but he doesn’t really want to draw attention to himself if there are Galra around.

Keith closes his eyes, trying to calm himself. _Think_ , he tells himself. _You’re the leader. You should be able to think your way through this_. Shiro had been through this twice already and come out of it.

 _Shiro was broken both times_ , something whispers in his mind, and he shudders and pushes the thought away.

There’s nothing else in the cell, not a bed or toilet or whisper of anything he could use to free himself. His head drops against the wall he’s propped up against and he winces, feeling something sticky on the back of his skull. He becomes aware of a throbbing in his temples, a headache rising to the front of his forehead like it’s been waiting for him to notice it.

The corner of his mouth tastes of blood when he licks his lips, and his tongue is heavy and dry in his mouth. He wonders how long he’s been here, what he’s even being held for. Shiro hadn’t been able to be specific about what they’d done to him -- he just briefly described bright lights and too many numbers and letters to keep up with, labels attached to him like he was a petri dish lined up on a shelf for them to study. Keith doesn’t want that. Keith doesn’t know exactly who he is anymore but he knows he’s not a fucking folder in their files, some half-Galra specimen for them to experiment on.

He’s drifting a little, trying to will the headache to leave so he can think, when there’s the sound of footsteps outside of his cell. He tenses but keeps his eyes closed, waiting to see what will happen. His cell opens, and then there are more footsteps, and a long pause. Out of nowhere, someone nudges his hurt foot with their own and he hisses a pained noise against his will.

“Does it sting?” a voice asks, amused, and Keith slits his eyes open to glare at the Galra with the scar across his mouth. “You stumbled, when my sword grazed you. Would say I’m sorry about it, but we both know that’s a lie. My only instructions were to deliver you to Prince Lotor alive; your physical wellbeing wasn’t specified.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, staring at him with dark eyes. The Galra snorts.

“They tell me you’re the one that flies the biggest lion. The Black one. But all it took was a bit of poison on my blade and you were down.” His eyes narrow. “Well, it took a bit longer than I expected. The prince neglected to tell us you were part Galra.” He tilts his head, and for the first time, Keith notices a bruise blooming over the side of his jaw, big and ugly, and he doesn’t bother to hide the smile that splits his teeth into a sneer.

The Galra nudges his foot again more sharply, and this time Keith bites his tongue against the pain, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction. The Galra laughs, a sound that would almost be pitying if it weren’t so smug. “I do love it when you prisoners hold onto your bravery.” His scar flashes pale and wide when he grins. “It makes it that much better when you lose it.”

“You won’t stop Voltron,” Keith says, ignoring the low thrum of fear at the back of his throat. “They don’t need me to fly Black, there’s others who can do it.” It’s a lie, since Shiro still can’t get Black to respond, but technically not a lie -- they’d managed to fill the gaps before, and he knows they can do it again, even if the thought feels like a knife in his gut.

He wouldn’t normally share things like that with the enemy, but he has to know whether the others are here, and the Galra rises to the bait. He crouches in front of Keith, close enough that Keith can smell something metallic and bitter on his breath, has to struggle not to lean back or flinch. “The prince doesn’t give a shit about your stupid robot, or your paladin friends. He has his eyes on _you_ , though, and that should be enough for you to worry about.”

He smiles, and it feels like a weapon, sharp and glinting in the darkness. Keith stares impassively back until he stands back up, his smile dimming somewhat at Keith’s non-reaction. The soldier throws a small packet of water on the floor near his feet, just far enough that it’s going to be a pain to reach, and leaves the cell. Keith waits until he’s gone to slump against the wall, almost shaking with relief. The others aren’t here, then -- they’re safe, at least for now.

Worrying about what Lotor wants with him isn’t useful, and he doesn’t particularly care, so he doesn’t bother thinking about it. Instead, he sips the water and tries to think of how he’ll get out of here. He prods his ribs carefully, relieved when it doesn’t hurt as much as it had before, but his ankle is still an issue he can’t ignore -- he doesn’t have anything to splint it with, and he’s going to have to do that if he wants to leave.

His best bet is to try and overpower whoever comes into the cell next. Even if they don’t have keys for his shackle, they’ll have something on their person that he can use -- the Galra before had worn his fucking sword on his hip, and it had been tempting to try and grab it while he’d had the chance, but learning that it held some kind of substance on it that could knock him out had made Keith second guess that.

Still, it tells Keith that the Galra here are careless. They were used to prisoners who cowered before them, who didn’t even attempt to fight back. Fine.

Keith was going to show them exactly what the pilot of the Black Lion could do.

He sits with his head against the wall, eyes closed, trying to distract himself by thinking of better things, happier things, like the time the whole team had gone swimming together. It had been a team bonding exercise that Allura had suggested as training and Lance had latched onto as fun, and all of them had ended up soaking wet but _happy._ Lance had flicked water at him and instigated a minor battle that had led to full out war, with factions that had split off and betrayals that were unexpected. It’s one of Keith’s fondest memories since they’ve been been in space, just because it was so uncomplicated.

Inevitably, though, his thoughts switch to Lance entirely, to his blue eyes and warm skin and the way he’s taken to putting his hand on the back of Keith’s neck after missions, just a press against his skin as if to say, _I’m here_. He wonders what Lance is doing now, if he’s worried, if he’s hurt, whether the others are searching for him. He wonders if they’re okay, although the Galra probably would have mentioned if any of them were seriously injured just to rub salt in Keith’s wounds.

He’s contemplating whether or not he should try to sleep to conserve energy when an alarm rings out over the ship, cutting through the silence and startling him into sitting up straight. There’s the thundering sound of footsteps far away, maybe dozens of them, and incomprehensible shouting. It goes quiet after they pass, a breathless moment of just the blaring alarm and Keith’s own heartbeat pounding in his ears, and then the entire ship shudders with an impact.

Keith ignores his aching ankle and rolls to brace himself on one knee, straining at the ends of the shackles, trying to angle his head so he can see out through the window in the door. It’s useless -- all he can see is a red light flashing in time with the alarm.

It has to be the team -- no one else could cause an explosion like that, no one else would attack a Galra ship. His heart starts to beat faster in his chest, thrumming in his ears. He wishes he could see out of the window, wishes he could move his hands, wishes he could stand properly. The frustration starts to make his vision blur, or maybe that’s the pain in his chest, because he has to stop straining at the shackles and breathe for a moment until it clears.

He waits for what feels like hours, although it’s probably only minutes, chewing his lower lip until he’s worried it’s bleeding. Finally, the sound of footsteps reaches his ears from down the hall. They’re solitary, clunking firmly against the metal of the floor, and they pull to a stop just outside of the cell.

A helmet appears, and it’s blue.

Keith’s stomach jumps at the sight of it, even before Lance opens the visor and looks at him. Lance’s face is sweaty, flushed, his brows furrowed in the remnants of a scowl that Keith can tell isn’t directed at him.

“Keith,” Lance breathes, and it’s -- Keith’s never heard Lance say his name that way before. His name has never sounded that way before, not from anybody. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith says, ignoring his ankle throbbing under him. “Is everyone okay? The villagers?”

Lance stares at him long enough that Keith starts to worry, and then says, almost disbelievingly, “They’re all fine, Keith. Hang on, let me get you out of there.” There’s a soft humming noise, and then the door is sliding open with a soft _woosh_. Lance barely waits for it to get out of the way before he’s rushing in, dropping his gun to the ground to fall to his knees and reach out for Keith. His hands don’t connect, though, hovering close to Keith’s face and then pulling away abruptly. His expression is strange, one that Keith can’t parse right now. “Pidge’s gadget doesn’t work on non-tech stuff, but I brought this,” Lance says. “You dropped it when they took you.”

It’s the black bayard, which he hands to Keith. Keith’s pulse settles somewhat with a weapon in his hands again, and he quickly uses the edge of the sword to slice through the shackles, although the cuffs stay braceleted around his wrists. He shakes them out absently, listening to the chain clink against itself, and then stands up.

Or, he tries to stand up. His ankle flares with blinding pain underneath him, and he automatically folds over, stumbling against Lance’s chest.

“Keith?” Lance asks, sounding worried. Keith gasps for breath, braced against him and blinking back instinctive tears at the stabbing sensation. “Keith, what’s wrong?”

“My ankle,” he grits out, furious with himself. Lance crouches down, gently touching his ankle through the body suit. His fingers are impossibly gentle; Keith barely feels them, only knows Lance is touching him because he’s looking down at him. Lance looks up at him, still kneeling in front of him, and Keith’s heart rolls over in his chest.

“I don’t think you can walk on this,” Lance says, mouth a tense line. Keith curses, low and filthy enough that Lance whistles as if he’s impressed. “It’s fine,” Lance says, eyes flashing up at him. “I’ll carry you.”

“ _What_ ,” Keith says flatly. Lance stands back up, turning in place and bending down a little. “Lance, no.”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Lance says firmly. “I’m getting you out of here. You can go on my back or I can carry you in my arms. Your choice.”

The image of himself held in Lance’s arms (the way he’d held Lance all those months ago, balancing his barely conscious body as carefully as he could, terrified of hurting him, trying desperately to ignore the anxious flutter of his heart) almost makes him fall over again. He scowls at Lance’s back but carefully moves forward, wrapping his legs around Lance’s waist.

Lance puts his hands under Keith’s thighs, hoisting him up higher almost effortlessly. Keith clutches his shoulders and finds himself biting his lower lip again, grateful Lance can’t see his flushed face.

It’s not exactly comfortable, being pressed up against the hard armor while his chest still hurts, but Lance’s hands under his legs hold him steady as he heads out of the cell at a hurried pace.

“What happened?” Keith asks. He’s only barely resisting the urge to bury his face against the back of Lance’s neck -- he forces himself instead to look over his own shoulder, trying to make sure they’re not being followed.

Lance waits until they’ve turned a corner before he replies. “We were all trying to keep an eye on the villagers, and we were holding off the Galra forces pretty well, but then they just -- left. Out of nowhere, they retreated and fled in their ships. We were all pretty suspicious of that, but mostly relieved, but then I--” He pauses, and his hands tighten on Keith’s legs. “We noticed that you weren’t there. It became pretty obvious why they’d left so easily.”

“One of them came into my cell earlier. He said something about taking me to Lotor,” Keith says, frowning. Lance’s shoulders stiffen underneath him, but he doesn’t say anything else. “But I don’t know what he’d want with me.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s not getting you,” Lance says, in a tone of voice that hits Keith low in his stomach.

“I know,” Keith says, leaning closer to Lance. His ribs ache with the motion, but Lance’s shoulders loosen again when he presses against him, and it’s worth it. They don’t encounter anyone on the way out, but Keith does see several slumped bodies smoldering in the hallway, clear scorch marks on their armor. Lance doesn’t even acknowledge them.

“The others are covering for me,” Lance says. “They should be nearly done with -- oh! Hey, yeah, Pidge, you got the thing ready?” His head ducks as he listens to something over the comms, and Keith struggles to hear as well. He can’t make out anything, but Lance nods his head and then says, “Yeah, got it. We’ll be at Red in a minute.” He pauses, and his voice is strangely cold when he says, “His ankle is hurt, and I think his ribs too.”

Keith flushes, because he hadn’t told Lance anything about his ribs. He tries to lean back, but Lance’s fingers clench on his thighs and he leans forward, nudging Keith back into place. “Stay close,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

Red hasn’t really responded to him since he’s been piloting Black. If he’s in the hangar with her, he can feel the hum of her low in his mind, enough to let him know that their bond isn’t completely gone, but it’s nothing like being connected to her. Now, as they run into the hangar, her consciousness reaches out for him, a heavy and frantic surge that doesn’t hesitate for a moment before she clashes with him. He gasps at the sensation, and underneath him Lance’s muscles tense with concern until he realizes what’s happening. Lance chuckles, but Keith can barely hear it over Red’s mind pulsing against his own.

“Yeah, she was worried,” Lance says, sounding amused. Red’s purr echoes through Keith’s mind, pointed -- it’s aimed at Lance, who makes a _tsk_ noise and doesn’t acknowledge her. Keith can’t really understand what they’re saying -- Red’s mind is present, wrapped around him, warm and comforting and so, so familiar, but they’re not connected, not really. Part of him deflates a little, wishing he could be with her again; she’d been part of what had kept him level and grounded before everything had gone to shit, and being so close but not fully there grates at him. “She -- she misses you,” Lance says quietly, as if he’s realized where Keith’s thoughts are.

Something tightens around Keith’s heart like a vise. “I miss her too,” Keith says, looking up at her. Her warm purr makes both of them shudder, and Keith unconsciously clutches Lance closer. Lance doesn’t say anything, just hitches him up from where he’s started slipping again.

Lance carries him into the cockpit and sets him on the floor carefully. He leans in close, looking at Keith’s face, his eyes a dark blue, the color of deep ocean. Keith can almost feel his breath on his face, can feel the warmth of him even though they’re not touching. Everything is still for a long moment, their eyes holding each other’s gaze.

His hands hover over Keith again, like he’s going to touch him on his shoulder, on his chest, but he pulls away again, tucking his fists against his sides, leaving Keith feeling strangely bereft. Lance won’t meet his eyes, just gets into the pilot seat and leaves the hangar, but not before turning Red and blasting everything in sight, leaving a flaming pile of ruins to smolder behind them.

The whole way back to the castle, they’re both quiet, but Keith can feel something simmering in the air between them. It almost feels like a line between them pulled taut, like if one of them moves too quickly it will snap. He stays as still as he can and watches Lance. Lance doesn't look back.

  


.

  


(Keith sits with Hunk and Pidge while Coran prepares a healing pod for him, trying not to be obvious about staring as Lance talks to Shiro and Allura across the room, a serious expression on his face. He tries not to think about Lance’s warm hands against his thighs, the damp hair at Lance’s temples, the cock of his hip as he waves one hand around and debriefs Allura and Shiro on what had happened.

“Man, that was stressful,” Hunk says, sighing. “I’m glad we got you back, dude.”

Keith smiles at him, dragging his gaze away from Lance. “I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah, I wasn’t that worried,” Hunk says. Keith blinks at him, and Hunk holds up his hands, wincing. “I mean, I was worried, of course I was, but you’re really resourceful and I was pretty sure we were gonna get you back. But it’s just--” Hunk stops talking, eyes flicking across the room.

“Lance freaked him out,” Pidge says absently, messing with a scanner she’s using to try and x-ray Keith’s ankle. “He went all scary and intense and wouldn’t stop harassing everyone about getting you back.”

“Pidge,” Hunk hisses. Keith stares at him, then at Pidge, something stirring in his gut. “He just -- took it hard, I guess,” Hunk admits.

“I’ve never seen him like that before. He basically took out an entire squadron on his own when we were fighting to get to the ship,” Pidge says, making a humming noise as she waves the scanner over Keith’s ankle. She winces. “Yeah, that’s nasty.”

Keith’s eyes raise to Lance, who crosses his arms and scowls at something Allura says. His gaze flicks to Keith and holds, and it’s like a physical touch pressing on Keith’s chest, on his ribs, on his heart. Keith opens his mouth, trying to think of something to say or do or--

“The pod’s all ready,” Coran says cheerfully, and Keith closes his mouth and lets himself be helped into the healing pod, swallowing the words before they can try and escape again. Lance watches him as the pod ices over, and his dark eyes are the last thing Keith’s aware of before everything goes black.)

  


.

  


After the kidnapping, there’s a shift within the team, the inevitable change that Keith had been worried about, but it doesn’t come from himself. His capture had been too short to really affect Keith, although he and the others spend a lot of time trying to figure out Lotor’s motivations in taking him, ultimately coming to no conclusions. (Pidge jokes that Lotor is jealous of his hair, and Hunk suggests a frankly horrifying theory about them being secretly related; Keith appreciates their attempts to lighten the mood, but both theories are shot down immediately.)

No, the shift starts with Lance.

At first, Keith thinks it’s fine, that he’s just noticing Lance’s behavior because he’s always attuned to what Lance is doing. It’s little things -- Lance vetoing a mission because it’s too soon after Keith’s kidnapping, although he’s completely fine, or Lance watching him intently during training with a frown on his face, eyes narrowed as he twists and pivots through his fight with the gladiator. Keith feels tense under the weight of that gaze, like usual, but it’s not that big of a deal, nothing he can’t ignore.

They get stuck in another round of meetings with the members of the Alliance, something Keith is almost grateful for, since they’re apparently not able to get back to actual missions yet -- anything to break up the monotony, to distract him from Lance’s odd stares. Allura is explaining the recent events to the leaders, who all look on with various degrees of concern, horror, and intrigue.

“You were taken?” one of them asks, her mouth open on a gasp.

“What happened, exactly?” another questions, their tentacles twisting in the air in agitation. “What did this Prince Lotor want with you?”

“Was this a deliberate abduction? Were you captured as a pawn against Voltron?”

Although the questions are slightly overwhelming, Keith leans forward, determined to handle this properly, to do better than last time. “I was taken, yes, and locked in one of the cells onboard a prison ship. I was unable to determine exactly what the purpose of taking me was, but I--”

“It doesn’t really matter what Lotor wanted with Keith,” Lance says, his fingers tapping on the table. The sound is especially loud in the silence that follows his abrupt interruption.  “He doesn’t seem to be acting alongside Zarkon. He’s an outlier. Let’s move on.”

Keith’s mouth closes with an audible click, and he stares at Lance, who won’t meet his eyes, facing forward intently. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and Keith realizes he’s gritting his teeth. He’s acting like they’re in the middle of a fight, and Keith feels an answering unease rising in his own gut.

Allura clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. The tension among the leaders dissipates as she smiles comfortingly at all of them, spreading her hands over the table.

“Lance is right. We should focus on our future movements. Now, Coran and I have discussed the possibility of--”

Keith tries to pay attention to Allura, he does, but all he can focus on is Lance next to him, the warmth of his body so close, close enough that Keith could reach out and hold his hand. For all that Keith can feel him there, knows he’s there, Lance’s cool demeanor makes it feel as if he’s across a wide chasm, distant and foreign.

Neither of them speak for the rest of the meeting, and Keith tries to put the whole thing out of his mind, tries to tell himself they’re all on edge after the kidnapping. Things will go back to normal.

But then it escalates to Lance following him so closely on missions that Keith can feel him on his heels, can practically feel his breath on the back of his neck. Lance starts to monopolize the battlefield near Keith, using either the Red Lion or his rifle to stop attackers before Keith can even approach them.

He knows it’s not just him, because Pidge and Hunk have taken to giving Lance pointed looks, and Allura snaps at Lance more than once for not being in formation because he’s too busy crowding around Keith. None of them say anything to Keith, but he catches their eyes on him more than once, and it’s starting to wear him thin at the edges.

At first he’d just been slightly overwhelmed by the increased attention, wondering if it was lingering remnants of that heightened feeling between them during the rescue, maybe something meaningful finally, _finally_ coming to a head, but Lance wasn’t even really interacting with him. There were no more touches on the back of his neck, no more lingering smiles when he’d successfully led a mission. Lance just felt like a distant but overbearing babysitter, and with every sentry that blew to pieces before he could attack, with every solo mission that got curtailed by Lance taking over and forcing him to the back of the group, his patience grew thinner and thinner.

“He’s just being cautious,” Shiro tells him one night as they sit in the common area. Keith has been trying to read a book for the last hour, and Shiro is ostensibly working on some sort of strategy for freeing a neighboring solar system, but Keith can hear the little pinging noises of a game being played. “The others weren’t joking, he was really worried about you. We all were, but Lance was -- especially so.”

Shiro’s face is placating, always trying to keep the peace, and Keith forces himself to quirk his mouth into a smile and nod, to let the silence between them fall again until Shiro turns back to his tablet. Keith stares at the pages of his book, unseeing, trying not to let anything show on his face. The truth is, he thinks he knows what Lance is doing.

Lance doesn’t trust him to be the leader anymore.

It stings, more than he thought it would. Even though Lance had been the first to say that he didn’t trust Keith to be a leader when Black had originally chosen him, Keith had taken him at his word when he’d said he accepted the Black Lion’s decision. Lance had been the one person Keith had depended on, that Keith had come to trust to guide him -- and now Lance was treating him with kid gloves.

He’s miserable the first few days after he has the realization, avoiding contact with everyone. They’re still in between missions for the moment, which provides him with the cover to stay on his own for long periods of time, training relentlessly on one of the lesser used decks or hiding in the observatory. He spends a lot of time either trying to fight or think his way through his feelings, but he just keeps going in circles, unable to figure out what to do or how to feel. All he really ends up with are bruises and an ache settled deep into his heart, like it too has been bruised.

After the first few days, though, something else starts to take root in his stomach, something bitter and tired and frustrated.

By the time the next mission rolls around, he’s mostly angry -- angry that Lance hasn’t even talked about this with him, angry that he thinks he can just step all over Keith like he’s still the same person who started leading the team months ago when _Lance_ had been the person helping build him up. He’s angry that he doesn’t feel like he’s doing his part saving the universe anymore, angry that his place in this team, in this _family_ doesn’t feel important -- but he still doesn’t know what to do about it.

Their next mission is something basic, a smash and grab on Axylt-5, part of a solar system they’ve been slowly working their way through. The Galra mass produce weapons on the planet, and their hope is that by disrupting the factory and destroying most of the existing merchandise, they can slow some of their war efforts down. According to alliance reports, the Galra presence on the planet is low, so there shouldn’t be very much resistence.

Shiro gathers them all around the command center, gesturing to the display. “Here’s the plan. Keith will escort Pidge through the base so she can do her usual scan for evidence of her brother and father, as well as pull any useful information about Galra operations. Lance, Hunk, and Allura, you three will take care of blowing up the warehouses and the factories, as well as keeping the Galra off of the other two.”

Lance makes a soft noise of protest, brow furrowed. “Why doesn’t Allura escort Pidge?” he suggests, crossing his arms. Keith feels the beginning of a scowl on his face and clenches his fists to keep from glaring at him. “She could provide--”

“Keith’s the one who’s part-Galra,” Pidge points out. “I need him to be able to interface with the system in case it’s different from the systems on their ships. The stuff on planets is usually older tech.”

Lance quiets, but looks a little sullen. He glances at Keith, who stares back at him -- Lance’s eyes linger and then flick away, and his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. Keith has to bite his tongue against the urge to say something.

“It shouldn’t be a difficult mission,” Shiro says, putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Keith quietly simmers with annoyance -- why is Shiro reassuring _Lance_? “We’ll watch from up here, but the Noorians assure us that the planet isn’t heavily guarded, mostly because this is only one of a hundred of planets they use to manufacture weaponry. This is more about weakening them at every available opportunity than it is dealing a heavy blow.”

“Every little bit counts,” Allura says, lifting her helmet and sending Shiro a smile. “I’m ready to go when you four are.”

“I’m ready,” Keith says firmly, resisting the urge to look back when Lance glances at him again. He turns in place and heads for the Black Paladin’s terminal, determined that this mission, he’s not going to let anything distract him, especially not Lance fucking McClain.

  


.

  


Pidge lets Keith lead the way, too busy tapping away at her suit’s controls as they go to even look up. As they go deeper and deeper into the base, Keith feels his earlier tension dissipate a little, slipping into the more familiar feeling of heightened awareness that came with every mission. His ears strain to catch the sounds of approaching enemies, especially since Pidge isn’t really watching their flank.

“I’m disabling the cameras as we go,” Pidge explains, “And trying to keep them from noticing us for as long as possible. Hunk is using my coding to do the same at the factory.” She taps a few more times, and the red light on the camera just around the corner goes green.

“The longer we can go without being tagged, the easier it’ll be to get out,” Keith agrees. Their progress to the security branch of the base is slow but steady as they make their way down long, metal-gray hallways. There’s a few guards doing rounds, some of them clearly bored or chatting idly, but rather than engage, Keith pulls Pidge into alcoves or empty rooms. When she gives him a vaguely surprised look, he shrugs.

“If the guards don’t check in, they’ll notice something’s up. We should stay as stealthy as we can,” he says.

Pidge’s raised eyebrows only seem to climb higher. “Who are you,” she asks solemnly, “And what have you done with Keith?”

He nudges her sharply, rolling his eyes, and she laughs, holding her hands up. “I’m joking, I’m joking. You’re right. Lead on, leader.” She gestures him to go on, and he quirks a smile at her and leans back into the hallway, checking that the coast is clear.

Getting into the security room and letting Pidge run her scans goes quickly. There are only two sentries and one guard, and all three of them are handled easily when Keith opens the door with a palm against the reader, using the element of surprise to run the sentries through and allow Pidge to duck around him and electrocute the Galra guard into unconsciousness. He hadn’t even been able to stand up from the chair positioned in front of the computer, slumped over with his mouth open in an ‘O’ of shock. Pidge shoves the guard out of the way of the control panel with her foot and sets up her tech, starting up two simultaneous scans on the system.

Keith keeps an eye on the door, but a lot of his attention is captured by the cameras that are panning the entire Galra complex, including the factory. There are dozens of them, planted all over the factory and the security building they’re in. He can see guards moving in shifts, as well as the assembly line where robots diligently put together hundreds of guns and explosives and package them in containers.

“You see that little flicker there at the corner of that screen?” Pidge says, nodding her head at one of the leftmost screens. “That must be where the rest of the guys are.” It’s a room filled with hundreds of crates, all stacked on top of each other and labeled with unintelligible writing. The screen doesn’t show any beings, but Keith can see a small tearing at the edge of the screen, the smallest flicker. “They’ll definitely be setting up charges in there.”

Keith watches that screen, plus the other three located in the same room, trying to guess where the others are and what they’re doing, where they might be placing the bombs.

What Lance is doing.

Fuck. He crosses his arms over his chest, mouth unconsciously turning down into a frown. It’s annoying that even when he’s upset at him, his heart still clenches thinking of Lance, worrying about him and wondering what he’s thinking of -- but he pushes the thoughts away immediately, trying to focus again on the mission.

“Okay,” Pidge says, “I’m thinking like, five more minutes, tops, and then we’ll be good to go, and we can comm over to the others and tell them to detonate.”

Keith is just opening his mouth to reply when there’s movement on one of the cameras trained on the entrance to the part of the building they’re in. Their heads both turn as one as a section of the screens begins to show the slow march of two dozen Galra soldiers into the base, all of them armed much more heavily than the ones patrolling.

“Shit,” Keith says, leaning closer, trying to see if he recognizes any of them. “Their armor doesn’t match any of the armor we’ve seen on the guards inside the building.”

“Who are those guys?” Pidge asks, frantically tapping at the control panel. “The records here don’t show any sign of there being that kind of personnel on base.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, tapping into the main comms, “We’ve got a problem.”

“What’s going on?” Shiro asks, and Keith turns his head so his helmet shows off the slow progression of the Galra towards them. Shiro sucks in a breath and Keith hears the others being tapped into the conversation. “Guys, something’s happening.”

“What’s up?” Hunk asks. “We’re almost ready down here, we’ve got two warehouses rigged and ready to go.”

“Is everyone okay?” Lance asks sharply. The sound of his voice makes Keith’s throat go dry.

“Everyone is fine for now, but there’s some kind of group of soldiers advancing on Keith and Pidge,” Shiro says. Hunk makes a small noise of surprise, and Allura gasps. Lance doesn’t say anything at all.

“They’re seriously headed straight for us,” Pidge murmurs, watching the soldiers on the screens. “Do they know we’re here? I could’ve sworn we weren’t flagged…”

Keith catches a glimpse of something blood red on the screen, and everything clicks. “It’s me,” he says quietly, watching the Galra soldier with the scar look up at the camera as he passes by. The soldier smirks as if he can feel Keith’s gaze. “They must have put some kind of tracker on me, they’re following me. It’s the same people Lotor sent after me before.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Hunk says, somewhat frantically, “Lance, _don’t_ \--”

“Lance,” Allura says firmly, “We need a plan, just hold on.” There’s the muffled sound of movement over the comms, of someone walking.

“The _plan_ is that we go help keep Keith from getting taken again,” Lance says. Keith almost doesn’t recognize his voice -- it’s low and rough, like it’s being dragged out of his chest. Pidge gives him a vaguely startled look, and he shakes his head helplessly at her.

“We’re okay here, for now,” Keith says hesitantly. “We just need an exit strategy.”

“It would be better if you didn’t have to engage with those soldiers at all,” Shiro says. “Are there vents, or maintenance tunnels, or something?”

“I’m on it,” Pidge says, hurrying to the computer again, fingers moving even before she sets them down.

“If they’re really tracking me, they’ll just be able to keep following the signal,” Keith says, frowning. “Pidge and I should split up so she can get back to the castle with the information.”

“No way,” Lance says. Keith closes his eyes and clenches his fists, trying to count to ten. “They’ve already grabbed you once when you were alone, we can’t just do the same thing over again.”

“We know what they’re after this time,” Keith says. “Or at least what these guys are after. This has nothing to do with the mission we were already on, and you guys should complete it. If these soldiers follow me, I can lead them on a chase long enough to let you guys get out of here before I join back up.”

“What if something happens to you and none of us are there?” Lance demands sharply. “What if we’re cut off from you, and you get taken, and this time we can’t find you? What if--”

“Lance,” Shiro says. His voice is quiet but absolute. Lance cuts himself off, but makes a frustrated noise. “I have faith Keith can handle himself. Minimizing the risk to the mission is a good idea.”

There’s no response, and after a long moment of silence, Hunk says awkwardly, “He’s already left the warehouse, Shiro. Allura and I have the detonators, though.”

Shiro sighs heavily. Keith can almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Pidge, how’s it looking?”

“The vents should be big enough for both of us to get through, and I think I can put Keith out on the far side of the building, giving him enough time to put some space between him and the Galra. I can head out over top of them and back through the front entrance.The only thing is, that’ll put him further away from the Black Lion.” Pidge looks up at Keith, her mouth turned down. “You’d have to stay away from them on foot, at least for a little while.”

“That’s fine,” Keith says dismissively, already looking around the room. He spies the vent high against the wall in the corner. “Pidge, can you seal this room up while I open the vent?” He drags the chair the guard had been in over to the wall, using a small screwdriver Pidge tosses at him to loosen the screws holding the vent cover.

A few taps of the keys and Pidge raises a thumb. “Good to go. They’ll probably be able to break it down, but hopefully we’ll be gone by then.” She disconnects her gadgets from the terminal, putting them away and giving Keith a serious look. “You go first.” He opens his mouth to protest, and she shakes her head, cutting him off. “I’m gonna try and seal the vent behind us so it takes them longer to figure out where we went, and you’ve got further to go. According to the schematics, just take a left, then a right, then another left, and you should just go straight for another thirty feet before you come to a room on the far end of the building. There’s an exit nearby.”

“Pidge,” Keith says, swallowing. She looks up at him, her eyes bright and unafraid. “Be careful,” he says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If anything happens, say something immediately. I’ll come back for you.”

“I know you will,” Pidge says, unhesitant. She smiles up at him, then gives him a push on the shoulder. “Lead on, leader,” she says. “I’ll see you soon.”

Keith smiles back, and then hauls himself into the vent. It’s close, tighter than it had seemed from the outside. Everything is warm and smells vaguely of charcoal for some reason, but he makes his way down the shaft without too much difficulty. Making the first turn is an exercise in flexibility, but it’s easier the second time, and by the time he reaches the last turn, slightly out of breath, he hears Pidge tap onto the comms again.

“I’m headed back to the entrance,” she whispers. Keith can hear the rhythmic sound of her crawling. “Time until bomb detonation is five minutes. Maybe those guys following you will be distracted and won’t follow.”

“Doubt it,” Keith mutters. “The guy said Lotor wasn’t interested in what Voltron was doing. I don’t think he cares about some factory. I’ll meet up with you as soon as you guys say you’re clear. Make sure the castle is ready to leave, okay?”

“Hey, guys?” Hunk says suddenly. “Uh, it’s just us right now, Allura’s talking to Shiro and Coran, but listen -- Lance isn’t responding to us. I’m worried he’s about to do something stupid.” Keith’s muscles tense at the nervous tone of Hunk’s voice, and he slows to a stop.

“Stupid like what?” Pidge asks, sounding vaguely alarmed.

“Stupid like confronting those soldiers so they won’t come after Keith?” Hunk says hesitantly.

Keith swears viciously enough that Pidge actually makes a surprised noise. “Pidge, where is he?” Keith asks, trying to keep from snapping at her. He resumes crawling, trying to focus on the part of himself that’s angry and upset, trying to push aside the part of himself that’s panicking at the thought of Lance trying to take on dozens of Galra soldiers at once.

“He’s -- actually, he’s almost underneath me,” Pidge says. “He’s close to the entrance. Wow, he must have really booked it to get here from the factory so quickly.”

“Allura and I are almost back to our lions,” Hunk says, “But if we need to turn around--”

“No,” Keith says firmly. “I’m gonna make sure the Galra are on me, then leave out the other way. I won’t let them get near Lance. You guys stick to the plan, make sure everything goes okay.”

They make affirmative noises, although neither of them sound very confident. Keith ignores his own uncertainty, pushing himself to go faster. He doesn’t bother to be quiet anymore, hoping that they’ll be too focused on finding him to bother with Lance.

Lance, who’s trying to come save him again.

Keith’s out of breath by the time he uses his bayard to cut his way through the vent cover and drops into a small room. It looks like it’s used to stockpile armor, although a lot of it looks worn and old. He opens the door, which leads to a long, empty hallway, just as the explosion goes off in the distance, a thunderous boom, followed by several more.

“Nice,” Pidge says cheerfully in his ear. “I can see the flames from here, Hunk. That place is toast.”

“Pidge, are you almost to the Green Lion?” Allura asks. Keith becomes aware that all of them are back on the comms again, except Lance. His stomach twists uncomfortably -- it’s unlike Lance to act this way, and he doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

“Almost,” Pidge says, breathing heavily. “Keith, those guys are almost right on top of you, they’re only a few corridors away, if I were you I’d--” She breaks off, sucking in a breath. “Oh no.”

“What?” Keith asks quickly, something cold taking up residence in his gut. “Pidge, what is it?”

“Lance has almost caught up with them,” Pidge says, sounding worried. “He’s even closer than you.”

“That’s it,” Hunk says immediately. “We’re coming back. Allura--”

Shiro says, trying to sound calm, “Wait a second, guys, we need to--”

Keith tunes them all out, turning away from the exit and running down the hallway back towards the center of the building. He’s only just turned the second corner when the sounds of gunfire start up, and he pulls his bayard out and runs faster.

When he rounds the last corner, he finally sees Lance.

He’s on the far end of the hallway, his gun held in front of him as he fires relentlessly into the group of soldiers. Keith can’t see his eyes through the visor, but his mouth is a straight line, unwavering as three soldiers crumple to the ground in front of him.

The Galra attempt to fire back, but the close quarters of the hallway make it difficult for them to aim properly, and they’re distracted enough that Keith swipes his sword across the closest one without being noticed. He makes a soft gurgling sound as he drops to the ground, unmoving. The smell of blood on the air nearly chokes him as Lance’s eyes glance his way, catching on him.

Lance comms him almost immediately. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks, huffing as he ducks under a laser aiming for his head. The Galra have decided to split their attention, but more of them are headed towards Keith, and he finds himself backing up the hallway, trying to keep from getting overwhelmed.

“What the hell are _you_ doing?” Keith retorts, parrying a sword. He pulls out his shield just in time to avoid a blast from one of the guns, reeling back. “Are you an idiot?”

“You were supposed to be running away,” Lance says, sounding frustrated. Keith looks up in time to see him dodge to the side as a knife comes flying his way, embedding itself in the wall. “You’re the one they’re after, _you’re_ the idiot!”

“We had a _plan_ ,” Keith replies, annoyed. “I would have been fine on my own for a bit, it’s not like every fucking time we see these guys I’m gonna be stupid enough to get taken!” It comes out more bitterly than he intends, and he sees Lance pause on the other side of the hall.

“What?” Lance asks, and then curses as a shot comes close to hitting him. The wall is full of smoking scorch marks behind him, but this one got close enough that his arm flies back from the pressure of it.

“Pay attention!” Keith snaps, and for a moment both of them are too caught up in the fight to fight with each other. Keith cuts down two more, trying not to look at the blade of his sword as he swings it. This isn’t the first time they’ve fought actual Galra, but it’s the first time they’ve fought so many, and the bodies piling up in the narrow hallway are distracting.

Keith glances up at Lance, and his blood runs cold -- he’s busy with two Galra tag teaming him, leaving him with little room to maneuver or shoot back, and there’s a third lining up a shot at him down the middle, and Keith reacts without thinking. He throws his sword, impaling the third Galra through the back. Everyone in the hallway can hear the sound it makes as it embeds itself into him, and almost everyone pauses.

This, of course, leaves him without a weapon, so Keith uses his jets to quickly shove his way through the remaining Galra, pushing them aside as they’re briefly stunned. It puts him closer to Lance, but he’s stuck in the middle of the fight now, and, as he pulls his dripping sword out of the Galra’s back, he doesn’t dodge in time to avoid a blast as it nails him on the side. He staggers, breathless with abrupt pain, trying not to lose his footing.

“Keith!” Lance shouts, somewhere between worried and furious. Two more Galra fall to the ground, their heads falling back and their armor cracked and burned over their chests. Keith barely raises his shield in time to block a blow from a soldier approaching on his injured side, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Keith says, although his side feels as if it’s splitting apart as the shield is pushed. It’s the Galra with the blood red sword, which makes a horrible sound as it grates against his shield until they break apart.

“Paladin,” he says, his scar stretching into a smile again. “This time I’m going to break your leg to keep you from getting away.”

Keith grits his teeth, risking a glance down at his side -- the armor is cracked, but he doesn’t think he’s bleeding. He raises his sword rather than reply -- it’s almost as red as the soldier’s sword now, and the sight of it makes his breath come quicker. The Galra notices.

“The leader of the group, and afraid of combat?” he says, shaking his head in faux-concern. “No wonder Prince Lotor isn’t worried about you. You lack the conviction to lead. You’re--”

Keith doesn’t bother to wait and hear what else is wrong with him. He drops his shield and rushes the Galra, trying to swipe for his gut, the biggest target. The soldier scowls and blocks with the sword, and Keith springs away before he can swing it. Up close, now that he knows what to look for, he can see there’s a strange iridescent gleam on the blade.

The Galra sees his glance, and laughs. “I had the scientists strengthen the dosage so it will affect you faster, since you’re half-Galra. Come closer again, paladin, and let’s see how it works.”

Keith can hear the fight continuing behind him, knows Lance is dealing with more than he can probably handle, but he knows he can’t turn his back on this soldier.

When they clash again, the sound is bells and cymbals crashing in his ears. The soldier is a good swordsman, but he’s bulkier than Keith, and slower, and this time Keith knows to avoid the blade at all costs -- it becomes apparent only a few minutes into the fight that Keith is better than him, even with his injury. The soldier scowls, his blade becoming more jerky as frustration bleeds into his movement. He stumbles more than once on the debris lying in their way, and as his attention is drawn towards the ground, Keith grips his sword tightly.

As he raises his bayard to deliver a final strike, there’s a blow to his back that pushes him off balance and to the ground, knocking his helmet off.

“ _Keith!”_

He rolls with the movement, wincing at the sensation but rising to his feet again, hoping against all odds that the blast didn’t penetrate his armor. His back is burning with sensation, but he doesn’t know how bad it is, and he can’t take the time to check.

His side throbs, and his vision is a little hazy, but he lifts his sword again, swallowing against the metallic taste in the back of his throat, determined to see this through. The Galra raises an eyebrow, apparently grudgingly impressed.

“This has gone on long enough,” he says, and then steps forward. As he does, a laser blast hits him in the shoulder, and then another, until at least a dozen have been unloaded on the same spot. He goes down on the ground, twitching a little and making pained noises, his shoulder mangled, and Keith stares at him with wide eyes. After a moment, too long, he finally goes quiet.

When he turns around, Lance is standing over the bodies of the remaining soldiers, chest heaving, his own eyes closed. He gasps for air like there’s none in the room, and Keith realizes what’s going on too late -- Lance drops to the ground on his knees, crumpling in on himself.

Keith lets go of his bayard and rushes to his side immediately, ignoring the searing ache of his wounds to fall to his knees next to him, his hands hovering over Lance, afraid to touch.

“Lance,” he murmurs, “Lance, listen to me. It’s okay now, Lance.”

Lance sucks in a shaky breath but it doesn’t seem to go anywhere. His eyes open and they’re glassy, unfocused. Keith feels bile at the back of his throat but swallows it, pushes past his own fear.

“Lance,” Keith says, more firmly this time. “Lance, breathe. Can you do that? Can you breathe with me?” Keith takes a deep breath, remembering the pattern of breathing Shiro had shown him one night after he’d had a nightmare, trying his best to project calm and confidence. Lance does a poor imitation, but his eyes lose some of their dullness, and over the next few minutes, they learn to breathe again together. It’s slow, and painful, and Keith has to clench his fists to keep from reaching out for Lance’s hands, but they finally manage to match their pace, breathing in and out.

Lance finally straightens, face wet with tears, and reaches up with a trembling hand to brush them away. Now that he’s not actively in the middle of a panic attack, he can’t seem to meet Keith’s gaze, but that’s fine. Keith sits back on his heels, running a hand over his face. The movement pulls at his side, and he winces. This immediately draws Lance’s attention again, and he makes a distressed sound.

“You’re hurt,” Lance says, and then makes another noise, almost impatient. “Let me see your back.”

Keith turns carefully, and Lance reaches out and holds his shoulder with one hand and touches the middle of his back with the other. Keith can’t feel anything, which feels vaguely concerning, but Lance lets out a sigh that’s mostly relieved.

“It didn’t break through, but it’s dented. You’re going to have a massive bruise. How’s your side?” he asks. Keith looks over his shoulder at him -- Lance is closer now than he’s been in days, and it momentarily takes his breath away, an automatic response to the proximity.

“It’s -- not great,” Keith admits, looking at the cracked plating. Lance tentatively puts his fingertips to it, gentle enough that Keith doesn’t feel anything at all, and sighs again. “Are you okay?”

“They were all terrible shots,” Lance says, shaking his head. “And I didn’t get into close combat with any of them.”

Keith lets out a slow breath, relieved. He takes a moment to be grateful they’re both alive, and then straightens his shoulders, trying to treat the situation the way he knows Shiro would. “We need to comm the others so we can--”

“I’m sorry,” Lance blurts, and Keith stops talking and stares at him. “I’m sorry,” Lance says again, miserable. “This was all -- you getting hurt was my fault.”

“The Galra were the ones trying to hurt us, Lance,” Keith says, shrugging his shoulders wearily.

“I should have just let you -- I should have gone along with the plan. I made everything worse,” Lance murmurs, rubbing at his eyes.

Keith hesitates, looking at him. He looks exhausted, not just from the fight, or from the panic attack, but something bone deep. It pulls at Keith, makes him think of all the strange things Lance has done recently. “Why -- why did you?” he asks. “Ignore the plan, I mean. It’s not like you.”

Lance’s shoulders tense and then release, like he’s too tired to hold even that. He takes a deep breath, then reaches out and takes Keith’s hand in his own. His eyes won’t meet Keith’s, hovering somewhere on the ground. His voice is almost too quiet to hear when he whispers, “I couldn’t let them take you again.”

Keith’s heartbeat, which had just started to slow from the fight, picks back up again, and he’s momentarily stunned. He stares at their hands, where Lance’s fingers are curling around his own, and then back up at Lance. “I--”

“Earlier, you said something about not being stupid enough to get taken again,” Lance interrupts. He finally looks back up at Keith, his brow is furrowed in confusion. “Is that what you think? That I thought you were dumb for getting captured before?”

Keith swallows hard, only barely resisting the urge to pull his hand away. “What else am I supposed to think,” Keith asks quietly. “You’ve been -- you were treating me like I was a child. Like I couldn’t be trusted to lead anymore.”

Lance’s mouth opens and then closes, and he lets go of Keith’s hand to cover his face with both of his own. “Fuck,” he says quietly, and then again, much more emotionally: “ _Fuck_.”

“Lance,” Keith starts to say, but Lance lowers his hands and pins Keith with a stare that leaves him speechless. His eyes blaze in his face, intent and dark and nothing like Lance has ever looked at him before.

“I love you,” he says.

Keith’s breath seizes in his chest, choking him. Lance doesn’t give him a chance to react, to even properly think, because he keeps talking, keeps _looking_ at him like he’s the only thing left in the world, in the universe.

“I’m in love with you, and that’s not an excuse for everything but I just -- couldn’t deal with it, when they took you before. I’d never felt that way about anything, about _anyone_ , Keith.” He pauses, swallowing. His hands clench and unclench in front of him, like he’s trying to grasp something, but he doesn’t reach for Keith again. “You were there one moment and then you were gone, and we didn’t know if you were -- if you were alive, or--”

He stops talking, forces himself to start over. Keith feels frozen in place, unable to process the things Lance is saying or the expression on his face, somewhere between broken and numb.

“I just want you to be safe. I need you to be safe.” His voice breaks a little halfway through the sentence, and he closes his eyes. He looks resigned, and miserable, and lonely. He looks like all of the things Keith has been feeling for weeks now, and he _loves_ him.

Keith looks at him, and for the first time in a very long time, knows exactly what to do.

He reaches out and puts his palm to Lance’s cheek, cupping it. Lance’s lashes flutter a little but he doesn’t open his eyes, as if he’s afraid to.

“You saved me,” Keith says softly. Lance’s breath hitches, and Keith lifts his other hand to grab Lance’s, raising it and pressing it against his own heart. He hopes Lance can feel it beating quickly, hard enough and loud enough in his ears that it almost drowns out anything else. “You did save me, not just then but now, and when I first started being the Black Lion’s pilot, and so many other times, Lance.”

Lance opens his eyes, and even now, damp with unshed tears, they’re the most beautiful eyes Keith thinks he’s ever seen. “You got hurt because of me,” he says, and Keith knows he’s not just talking about now, but about everything, like he can see all of the things Keith has been going through too. “Keith, you have to know, I think you’re an amazing leader, and I--”

Keith leans forward and kisses him, swallowing the words and using his hand on Lance’s cheek to tilt his head up. His lips are salty and slightly rough, but the taste of him drives away any lingering doubts in Keith’s mind, and when he kisses back, Keith’s thoughts disappear altogether.

Lance kisses like he does everything -- warm and passionate and just a little bit wild, but he’s wary even as he wraps his arms around him of the wound on his side. One hand slides into Keith’s hair, carding through it as he pulls him closer with the other around his back, careful fingers spread over his shoulder blades. He tastes of smoke and blood and something sharp and bitter, but Keith doesn’t want to pull away, couldn’t pull away for anything. The noises they’re making are almost too loud in his ears in the silent hallway, soft gasps and the sounds of their lips parting and meeting and parting again. It’s only a kiss but it feels bigger, like a firework in his chest ricocheting, growing in intensity. It’s too much, too big, an ache his body can’t contain.

He wants to do it forever.

It’s Lance who pulls away first, wrenching his mouth from Keith’s with a breathless sound, his eyes wide and his mouth a bruised red. Keith automatically chases the taste of him, but Lance tightens his grip in Keith’s hair and halts his movement. “Wait,” he says firmly, “Wait.” His eyes keep straying to Keith’s mouth, belying his words, but Keith stops moving.

“What?” Keith asks, a little impatiently. He feels like he’s been waiting to kiss Lance for weeks, months, maybe even years; he doesn’t want to stop. His hand is still on Lance’s face, and he runs his thumb over the arch of his cheekbone, distracted by a freckle just under his left eye. Lance’s lashes flutter a little, and he reaches up and takes hold of Keith’s wrist, not pulling him away but stilling his hand.

“Why did you do that?” he asks cautiously, his fingers tightening around Keith’s wrist.

Keith’s mouth quirks a little into a frown, and he feels himself flush. “I thought you were my right-hand man,” he mutters. “Shouldn’t you already know?”

Lance snorts, a smile starting to work its way onto his face. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked,” he says patiently.

“I…” Keith pauses, testing the words on his tongue before he lets them fall out of his mouth. Even after hearing Lance say them first, it’s still mortifying. “I love you,” he says hesitantly, and once he’s said it, it’s like a weight off his chest, months of terror and anxiety disappearing in an instant as the universe doesn’t implode. It’s not as hard to say it again: “I love you.” And then it’s even easier, watching with unconcealed delight as Lance’s whole face flushes red, to say it again. “I love you, Lance.”

“Okay,” Lance says, biting his lower lip to hide his smile. “I get it, you can--”

“I love you,” Keith says, grinning now, feeling something soft and bright welling up within him. “I love you, I love--”

Lance kisses him again, and laughter creeps around the edges of the kiss this time, more uncoordinated than the last but still so, so good. It leaves Keith lightheaded, but he doesn’t want to let go, refuses to stop. Lance kisses him like he’s trying to bury himself under Keith’s skin one moment, and then the next he’s brushing gentle kisses around the corner of his mouth, over his cheekbones, his chin, his eyelashes.

Keith doesn’t know how long they stay there, wrapped up in each other, pressed close and trying to get even closer, but there’s suddenly the sound of someone clearing their throat, and they pull apart to see Pidge, Hunk, and Allura standing in the hallway. Lance’s flush spreads from his face down his neck, over the tips of his ears. Keith mostly feels annoyed, but his face is hot too.

“As pleased as I am about this development,” Allura says carefully, “We need to evacuate the planet now before Zarkon’s soldiers retaliate for destroying the factory.” Her eyes flick over the bodies on the ground and then back to them without pausing, and Keith feels his stomach turn over, feels Lance go tense in his arms.

“You guys haven’t commed us in forever,” Pidge says, making a face. “Shiro’s pissed.”

“He says to say he’s ‘disappointed’,” Hunk corrects, tilting his head and wincing at whatever he hears through the comms. “But yeah, we need to go.”

“Right,” Lance murmurs. “Of course.” Pulling away from him is hard, but Keith stands up and helps Lance to his feet; the sudden movement reminds him of his wounds, and he bites his tongue to keep from making a pained noise.

They retrieve their helmets and bayards, although Keith is strangely reluctant to put his helmet back on, to armor himself again after feeling so suddenly stripped down. None of them mention the soldiers, but Pidge stays close to his injured side as they walk down the hallways, and he sees Hunk put a hand on Lance’s back and linger. Allura follows behind all of them, a comforting and reliable presence at their backs. The further they are from everything, the easier it is for Keith to breathe.

He keeps his eyes on Lance as they walk, his mouth still burning from the memory of their kisses; somehow he knows Lance is just as focused on him even though he’s facing forward. The thought carries him as they make their way outside into the smoke-filled sunset, their lions waiting for them on the horizon. Everything he’d been afraid of had come to pass, and he was still alive. They were all still alive.

This isn’t the end, he tells himself. It’s the beginning.

  


.

  


Things don’t change completely, but it’s enough.

“Are you guys okay?” Hunk yells from the other side of the room, bent over some kind of weird Galra machine with Pidge. “Do we need to help?”

“We’re good,” Lance yells back. He’s pressed back to back with Keith, both of them facing off against a flood of sentries that are attacking them, coming from both ends of the hallway towards the room they’re guarding. “You ready, babe?” A thrill goes through Keith at the easy way he says it, a shiver spreading down his spine.

“Ready,” Keith says, gripping his sword tighter. He thinks that with Lance at his back, by his side, pressed alongside him every morning he wakes up, he could do anything, could fight the Galra Empire single-handedly and win without breaking a sweat.

He takes that feeling and spends the next twenty minutes reducing a small army of sentries to piles of scrap metal. He can hear Lance doing the same behind him, and it spurs him on, makes him grin through the sweat and smoke filling the air. The sound of gunfire and the clash of metal is a symphony in his ears, cut through by the little huffs that Lance lets out when he manages a particularly good shot. It’s a familiar sound by now, one that Keith lets himself bask in like it’s his own victory.

When the last of them have stopped coming, when the hallway falls silent again, Keith turns in place to find Lance already looking at him, already moving towards him, already reaching out to tilt his head up and kiss him gently on the mouth. His head swims with adrenaline and giddiness.

“Nice job, partner,” Lance says teasingly as he pulls away, and Keith forgoes pretending to scowl at him to instead just push him slightly.

“Thanks for the help, partner,” he replies, smiling slightly as Lance grins.

“Okay, lovebirds, we’ve disabled the device and we’ve got the crystal core,” Pidge says, coming out of the room with a weird glowing crystal in her hands. “Whatever they were going to use this machine for, it’s toast now. Slav is going to have a field day with this thing.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Hunk says, looking apprehensively down the hallways. “This planet creeps me out.” Outside everything is almost eerily quiet, no ambient nature or wind or anything. The sky is an unnatural shade of yellow, the color of lemons. It’s pretty unnerving, but it doesn’t bother Keith as much as it seems to Hunk.

“So,” Lance says, rubbing up against his shoulder and grinning at him as they make their way back towards their lions. “What do you say to you, me, and a romantic dinner in the castle later?”

“Romantic dinner?” Keith asks skeptically, letting his hand fall next to Lance’s pointedly. Lance takes the hint and winds their fingers together, swinging their arms slightly. “Who’s cooking it?”

“Me,” Lance says indignantly. When Keith snorts a little, he adds, “With some help from others.”

“I’ve got a great recipe for stir fry, Keith!” Hunk calls out from behind them. “Don’t worry about it!”

Keith laughs as Lance sulks a little, tugging on his arm to get his attention again. “It sounds good,” he says fondly. Their shoulders brush as they walk, and it makes him duck his head to hide his smile. More and more, if he’s around Lance, they’re together, closer and closer all the time, and it settles something in him that he hadn’t known was wrong. It grounds him, knowing he has someone to fall back onto, someone he loves and who loves him.

“Allura’s finished handling diplomatic stuff with the Grumlons,” Shiro says through the comms. “You guys are good to head on back.”

“We’re on our way,” Lance says, glancing at Keith. Their hands are gloved, but Keith can still feel the warmth of his skin, can feel it in his gaze.

Things still aren’t perfect -- he’s worried about leading, and about Shiro, and about his past. He still worries constantly about whether or not he’s doing the right things, making the right decisions, thinking everything through. But it’s less scary with someone at his side. It’s easier to reach out for help when he knows there’s a hand waiting to hold his own. His nightmares aren’t gone, but falling back asleep is simple when he can bury his face in Lance’s hair and wrap his arms around him.

He tightens his grip on Lance’s hand and replies, “Let’s go home.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, you can find me on tumblr at [apvrrish](http://apvrrish.tumblr.com/), and on twitter at [@apvrrish](http://twitter.com/apvrrish).


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